


Imperfect Son

by punknerdmusings



Series: Horrors of War [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Azulon is the abusive family member here and we do not stan him, Carrying that tag on my back, Gen, Good Dad Ozai, I told you I was making this a thing, Listen my brain went what if Ozai was a good person, This is a massive au that doesn't really focus on the Gaang, and ran with it, will update tags as necessary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punknerdmusings/pseuds/punknerdmusings
Summary: Iroh and Ozai were born on the same day. One had the spark, one didn't. Azulon takes issues.In which Ozai is a good person, very gay, and he wants to end the war. He just doesn't know how.
Relationships: Azulon & Ozai (Avatar), Iroh & Ozai (Avatar)
Series: Horrors of War [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086713
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Imperfect Son

Ozai watched his brother bend with an analyzing gaze, trying to figure out how Iroh bent the way he did. He didn’t understand how Iroh stayed so grounded and was still able to dodge so effectively, or anything about this whole ‘root’ business at all, really. He had been bending for five years, and he was at the level Iroh was at when they were ten. So what was so different? He continued to watch, and slowly, the answer finally came to him, after nine long years of watching the Crown Prince bend.

Iroh didn’t dodge. He just stood and redirected the flames, Azulon doing much the same across the practice arena. They saved their energy for dodges for just the largest attacks, and then settled right back into their stances before continuing their own offense. And then they moved only minimally, instead redirecting or splitting attacks. Ozai had never gotten the hang of that himself, and instead had taken a more aerial approach to bending. Perhaps that’s what made his bending weaker.

Eventually, they stopped sparring, blue and orange crashing together spectacularly and pushing both back, Azulon and Iroh both panting. Ozai waited until his father beckoned him forward to step into the arena, slipping into his stance. He adjusted it by what he remembered from Iroh’s match, feeling off in it. But Azulon was nodding rare approval, so it must be right. He waited, knowing his father would want the first strike.

He didn’t have to wait long, Azulon striking out with a fierce stream of fire from his fist. Ozai matched it, his own flame considerably weaker in comparison, Azulon’s blue fire overpowering his and forcing him to roll away. He could hear Iroh talking about how he broke his root, but Ozai had tried their method of firebending and it had nearly gotten him burned. It was his turn now.

Azulon sent a kick his way, flames arcing out from his foot, and Ozai dived to the right, sending his own blast that Azulon simply parried. Another gust of flame, another dodge, another return volley, another parry. But all three knew Ozai’s flames were laughable compared to Azulon’s, and it was just a matter of time until he got burned.

The pain exploded in his side, and he collapsed as soon as he hit the ground, being careful not to touch it. Long experience had taught him that was a one-way ticket to even more pain down the line. He could feel Iroh gently lifting him up, letting Ozai lean on him.

“We should get you checked out.”

“I’ll be fine. Just help me sit over on the bench, will you?”

Iroh clearly wanted to argue, but at Azulon’s request as well, he helped Ozai over to the bench, easing him down. He crouched to examine the burn, but the Fire Lord called him back, preventing him from looking at it for too long before they were sparring again, Ozai left to fight the pain on his own.

He couldn’t get away to a city healer at this time, but he had one trick that would make the wait more bearable, at least for a little bit. He took a deep breath, and pulled the heat off the burn, leeching some of the pain away as he did so. He hissed quietly as it rolled back in between the end of one pull and the start of the next, not quite having mastered the technique at such awkward angles yet. 

After a second round of sparring for the Fire Lord and the eldest twin, Ozai slowly stood and limped off to his room, grateful that Azulon’s desire to keep his abuse secret had led to the princes getting separate rooms at the age of five. It meant that he could change in secret and then head off to the city proper, his new burn hidden underneath his cloak. He found a healer, got the burn treated anonymously, and then headed out to the woman who had changed a portion of his view on the world.

Azulon had said that steel was the tool of nonbenders and weak firebenders, that Ozai needed to be better. He was a prince, and if he needed to use the weapons of those not blessed by Agni, he should barely consider himself royalty. But every day, he also said that Ozai was the worst firebender the royal family had, and so Ozai had given himself permission to seek out other forms of combat. And he found a blademaster, willing to keep prying to a minimum. A bonus when he wanted to keep who he truly was a secret.

He arrived at Amako’s house with little issue, aside from the dull pain from his fresh burn. He vaulted the gate, and metal glinting in the corner of his eye, going right for him. He dropped to the ground with a muffled grunt of pain, rolling to the side to draw his own knife and throwing blindly. He heard the clang of a parry as he drew a second knife and darted over to his opponent, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her. He was careful not to draw blood as his knife pressed under her chin, holding the arm lock until he heard her laugh.

“Your throwing still needs work, Lee.”

“Yeah, well, Father gave me a nasty burn today, so I wouldn’t be in top form regardless.” He let Amako go then, stretching with a hiss. “So let’s go light on the sparring, yeah?”

“Whatever you say.” She handed him his discarded knife, and he checked it to make sure it wasn’t damaged before spinning it to hold it in a reversed knife grip. He preferred a knife with a symmetrical handle in his offhand so he could spin the reversed grip around at a moment’s notice, while his dominant hand held a knife with a handle designed for a more form-fitting grip. He then settled into a fighting stance, not bothering to practice the main firebending stance his father wanted him to use. Knife fighting was about speed and fluidity, not raw power.

He watched as she settled into her preferred fighting stance, just one knife and a free hand to bend with. She was like him, a poor firebender, but she blended steel and flames in a different way to him.

She always let him have the opening shot, so he sized her up and darted in, feinting one way and going the other. He nearly tricked her this time, watching as she lifted one hand to block and then realizing she needed to parry with the other. The sun glinted off Ozai’s knives and he spun, the first one glancing off her knife and the other only slicing through air as she backed up, going in with a slash aimed for his throat. She always tried this at least once per fight, but he hadn’t let anyone near his neck in nearly ten years, and he wasn’t about to break that streak now. He easily dodged it, rolling under the fire blast she sent his way before sweeping a leg to send her to the ground. Her own flames provided the perfect cover, and she was on her back and looking up a knife at him before she knew it.

“I don’t know what you think I have to teach you at this point in melee fighting.”

“I don’t think you do.” He sheathed his knives and stepped back to let her up, his voice honest. “You’re just the only one who will spar with me like this.”

“Right. Son of a noble. Family looks down on anything that isn’t firebending in a fight.”

“Yeah. But when your firebending is shit and you’re as important as I am, you need to defend yourself.”

“Does your family really have that much ire in court?”

“More.” His voice was dry as he looked at her. “If I told you half of the people who wouldn’t bat an eye at seeing me dead, you’d think I was joking.”

“Fair enough. Anyways, let’s work on some throwing now. I’ll set up the moving targets, you hit them when I’m out of the way.”

“Hey, I’m not that bad!”

“Nah, you’re worse.” She ducked a playfully thrown knife and laughed. “Listen, I want to practice too, alright?”

“Fine, fine. But hurry up, I don’t have that much time left.”

“Can barely spare time for me in your busy schedule, eh?”

“I had to go to the healer, remember?”

“No, I get it, I’m not important.” Her voice was teasing, and he grumbled about how she was one of the only people who tolerated him until the targets were set up and they got to throwing, knives thudding into targets in companionable silence. And true to his word, he left only about half an hour later, vaulting the fence again and heading back to the palace, wishing he could spend far longer gone.


End file.
